


Let's Dance

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate learns that Getaway is not all that he appears, and Cyclonus takes care of his upset friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Dance

“Have you seen Tailgate?”

“SKIDS HAS GONE TO GET US MORE DRINKS!”

“I _said_ have you seen _TAILGATE!”_

Rung was positively buzzing. He just smiled when Cyclonus tried to talk to him and continued throwing his hips to the beat of the music, which Cyclonus swore was turned up too loud to be healthy for their audial receptors. He was living under the lingering impression that Rung _didn’t_ drink, and that was why Cyclonus had come to seek the mech out, hoping to find some sense among all of the chaos and foolery he did not have the patience for. 

Rung laughed heartily and took hold of Cyclonus’s hands, pulling on them in time with the music. Cyclonus stared. 

“Whoa, there, I think somebody’s had a bit much to drink.” Skids appeared and gingerly prised Rung’s little fingers off Cyclonus’s hands to fit them with another tall drink, which made Cyclonus frown and, in a high grade fuelled and flamboyant gesture, Rung threw out his arm. Much of his drink slopping over the rim of the glass and the straw disappeared. 

“Are _y-you_ trying to get me drunk, _SkIDs,”_ Rung punctuated the name with a loud hiccup. 

“I think you already are drunk, buddy,” Skids laughed as Rung fell against him, mumbling and giggling. It was mildly unsettling and Cyclonus didn’t want to see anymore.

“You looking for Tailgate?” Skids piped up and Cyclonus jerked his head. Skids flipped his thumb backward, presumably at the door, but his direction was askew, “Saw him leaving with Getaway, very chummy those two are all of a sudden, you okay with that?” 

Cyclonus didn’t admit anything, but his scowl did, without a word he turned from Skids and retreated back toward the bar, with a dismal feeling sinking into his spark not even the buoyant charm of Huey Lewis and the News could absolve. 

He spent some time crouched over bar, idly slipping into thoughts that harrowed him, supposing Swerve would be along soon to serve him and break the spell. Swerve surprisingly didn’t show and Cyclonus glanced down the bar, but there was no sign of its tender. He crunched his lips, waited, and fought not to keep staring at the door, expecting to see an image he didn’t want to materialise: Tailgate arm and arm with Getaway, probably smitten. 

He was disinclined to label his feelings as jealousy, Tailgate was entitled to his own decisions and freedom and Cyclonus recognised that, however, Cyclonus content with how things were and didn’t have the burning drive in him to compete with a mech that was likely to be more engaging and appealing to Tailgate’s nature. Frankly, Cyclonus was confused by Tailgate’s appeal as much as he never entirely understood what drew the minibot to him. It proved that attraction wasn’t a matter of personal preference, it was inbuilt and Cyclonus was losing Tailgate’s interest to the likes of Getaway. 

Swerve was taking quite a while, long enough for Cyclonus to notice and lose patience. A party really wasn’t his scene, especially a loud one, _especially_ when he was alone. 

Cyclonus shoved off the bar and pushed through the crowds and ambled toward his quarters with unsteady steps. Perhaps not ordering that last drink of high grade had been the hands of fate intervening. Cyclonus’s head felt sluggish, and, to escape the impairment of overcharge and the discomfort of his spark, Cyclonus longed to plug into his recharge slab. He was barely paying attention when he rounded the next corner, having fallen deep into discouraging thoughts, and his path was unexpectedly crossed by another. 

Cyclonus’s head jerked up, fixing Getaway with a repugnant stare. The other mech was startled and hopped aside, his apology was overcome by the realisation of _who_ he’d very nearly bumped into and Cyclonus watched Getaway’s eyes grow. 

Immediately, Cyclonus’s eyes dropped, waist level, and confirmed Getaway was alone. 

“Cyclonus!” Getaway blurted out, throwing his hand to the back of his neck, “I - uh, sorry,” he grumbled, hanging his head down low and shuffling on quickly to Cyclonus’s suspicion. It did _bother_ him that Tailgate was absent, that concern followed him all the way back the habitation suite like a heavy load resting on his shoulders. As he prodded the control to the hab suit door, Cyclonus was ready to start muttering cynical things to himself when he was at last engulfed in privacy, but something stopped him. 

Soft whimpering sounds got his attention, the room was already bright and occupied. Tailgate looked up at Cyclonus when he heard the door hiss open, conflict filled his expression as if he didn’t know whether to rub the static from his bleary visor and put on a smile, or just accept that he’d been caught. 

Cyclonus was entirely stoic in the door, the opaque mask of disinterest keeping him aloof. Tailgate registered Cyclonus’s expression and the inconvenience a snivelling minibot might cause him and a dreadful feeling of hurt pinched his spark. 

Tailgate misinterpreted Cyclonus’s uncertainty as reluctance when he eventually stepped deeper into the room. He still didn’t say anything and Tailgate curled up tighter on the berth, hugging his knees to his chest, weak tremors of emotion made the edges of his frame shiver. 

Eventually, Cyclonus couldn’t stand the mystery any more.

“Tailgate, you are upset.” 

The observation encouraged more misery to stab at Tailgate’s wailing spark. He was upset, very upset, acknowledging it only gave the feeling more reason to grip him and stay with him. He was more than upset, he felt _broken_. 

“I was looking for you, you weren’t art the bar.” 

Tailgate attempted to gather some clear thoughts, and rubbed at the sting of pressure causing twinges behind his optics, accidentally smudging greasy marks across his visor. It was so pathetic, and Tailgate made a small, whimpering hum. 

“Getaway, he - he said he had something to show me, and brought me back here… I didn’t _understand_.” 

Something akin to cold rocks sunk to the bottom of Cyclonus’s spark and dread melted the opacity of his expression. 

“ _He only wanted one thing._ ” Tailgate bitterly confessed and looked away. Grasping himself a little tighter. Cyclonus was silenced by concern and suffered the crushing sense of responsibility. He’d been too grudging to pay proper attention at the bar. Whatever happened next, Cyclonus could’ve prevented it. 

“I thought we were _friends,”_ Tailgate’s tiny chest shook when he warbled, drawing Cyclonus in closer, “I said no and… he tried to convince me, but… I feel so embarrassed.” 

Cyclonus sat down on the berth, moving Tailgate’s hover board aside to make space. 

“Did he…?” Cyclonus didn’t like to acknowledge such brutalities, but he felt a commitment to Tailgate to be supportive. It came as a sheer, unadulterated relief to see Tailgate shake his head, but there was still in anguish in his voice. 

“He just _left_ , like it was all he ever wanted, he didn’t want to get to know me, all the nice things were just…just trying to buy me, to make me think I owed him.” 

A growl resounded from Cyclonus, deep and angry, his eyes narrowed as he focused on his great sword standing across the room. 

“Primus, I just feel so dumb… I mean…I don’t know what I was even meant to do.” 

“You weren’t _meant to do_ anything you didn’t want to.” 

Tailgate looked up and Cyclonus looked down, unflinchingly serious. 

“I know but… I just feel so useless. Getaway started _doing stuff_ and I didn’t understand what was going on… I, I haven’t interfaced before, Cyclonus. Y’know all the working classes, they weren’t built to interface - I had to pay extra for mine and I only got it installed because all my friends were getting them… I mean, I did hope to use it but not, not like this.” 

More pressure weighed on Cyclonus, his abilities were being tested, but they were qualities he wasn’t entirely sure if he possessed: compassion and reasoning. Cyclonus could empathise, but he couldn’t know what to say that would make the situation better for certain. 

“You’re not in the wrong, Tailgate.” 

“I know, but it feels like I am… and you should’ve seen the way he looked at me…” 

“Tailgate…” Cyclonus’s hands curled, his claws prodding his palms, “Mechs like him aren’t worth getting upset over. If he had any decency he would’ve respected your wishes, not made you feel inadequate.”

“Am I inadequate though? Most people wouldn’t have caused such a fuss.” 

Cyclonus could have raised his voice, and branded the others aboard the ship as wanton with easily spread legs, but he’d come to understand his pre-war opinion was outdated. 

“You were courageous, that is not a disadvantage. Don’t regret what you did.”

“That helps but I… I don’t know,” Tailgate’s shoulders deflated, his knees slid away from his chest and dangled over the edge of the berth and he stared at the floor. Cyclonus wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a person looking so morose and for it to have such a wounding effect on him.

“What else might help?”

Tailgate’s eyes flashed to the door, but he shook his head. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, Cyclonus.”

“Think.” Cyclonus paused, and pretended that an idea hadn’t already sprung to mind. When Tailgate didn’t reply, he broached his suggestion, “A dance?”

“A what?” 

“Would that help you feel better if we… danced.” 

At first Cyclonus thought it might have been a stupid idea, and that Tailgate might have been too crestfallen to think about trying to essentially _buck up_ when he felt so dejected, but after a moment, his visor flickered brighter. 

“What, really? I mean yeah…it might,” Tailgate was already hopping off the berth, and Cyclonus stiffly followed, worrying over what he’d gotten himself into as they returned to Swerve’s together and Tailgate’s small hand curled around his, tugging Cyclonus toward the dance floor with determination. 

Cyclonus found himself in the middle of his own personal hell: loud music, and many, many bustling people who shouted and spilled drinks and didn’t watch where they threw their hips. Cyclonus held onto Tailgate’s hand tighter, pulling him closer than he ought to, just to avoid being trodden on. In the sea of heads and carelessness, a little minibot could be easily missed. 

Both of his hands were on Tailgate now, keeping him steady and following his lead as they bopped about to some ungodly remix Blaster was pumping out of his DJ station. 

Across the room, at the bar, Cyclonus spotted Getaway leaning next to Skids. When he caught Cyclonus’s burning glare, Getaway glanced away and Cyclonus pulled Tailgate onto his feet, balancing Tailgate’s weight and sashaying him around in a half circle, so Tailgate’s vision wouldn’t be inclined to spot Getaway and risk spoiling Tailgate’s confidence. 

“What did you mean earlier?”

“Huh?” Tailgate had been looking down, watching his tiny feet pressed atop of Cyclonus’s and trying to predict where they’d step next, “What did I say?” 

“You said something about me being embarrassed?” 

“Oh,” Tailgate shook his head immediately, “It’s nothing, just something stupid Getaway said, we can ignore it.” 

Cyclonus grunted and continued moving his feet to Tailgate’s delight while he stared across the bar and purposely held Getaway’s attention long enough for Cyclonus to disentangle his fingers on one hand from Tailgate’s and flip Getaway his middle finger with malice. 

Once he was certain Getaway got the message, Cyclonus clutched Tailgate’s hand again and they merrily spun on. 

 


End file.
